


01: Intro - The XX

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Series: Unrequited [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>lips to a pulse point fluttering madly an echo an echo an echo of his own just for a moment there and then gone </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	01: Intro - The XX

_lips to a pulse point fluttering madly an echo an echo an echo of his own just for a moment there and then gone_

_not a kiss no no not a kiss no_

_“Steady, steady…” (no never not ever)_

_hand on a bicep hand on an elbow_

_“I’ve got you…” (you do you really do)_

_“Hold on to me…”_

_crumpled red fabric like blood in his hands_

_mybloodyourbloodourblood_

_and what… and oh_

_a tricolour cockade_

_a fingertip tracing the shape his fingertip tracing the shape but_

_not touching_

_not for him to touch_

_no_

_“I should take you-” a whisper in his mouth_

_“Yes, God, **please** …” a breath against his lips_

_and_

_and and and_

he comes back to himself slow

 _excruciatingly_ slow

slow like this, like

this… is… his… skin… 

his skin. 

yes.

against sheets that haven’t been washed in fuck knows how long, grimy and sweat-damp against his bare skin.

Of which there seems to be quite a lot.

...

 _This_ is his tongue

heavy in his mouth

and fuzzed over with the remnants of a fuckton of alcohol, running once over his lower lip, his bitten lower lip that stings just a little… just a little bit of ow and he bites again because _oh_ …

These are his eyes blinking blearily, squinting painfully against the sun that is hitting him _full on_ because, apparently, he knocked the blinds down. Again. _And_ tore the sheet he had nailed over them as an extra precaution _against_ that. Again.

And this…

_“Admit it.”_

Oh, fuck, _this_.

_“Admit what?”_

Thisishisbrainjackhammeringagainsthisskull.

He reaches with one hand clamped over his eyes because seriously _fuck_ it'sfuckingbright, the other spidering towards a bottle, _any_ bottle to take the edge off, and he finds one but it’s _empty_ and “Fuuuucking shit…”

_“Any way you want…”_

His hand falls away from the glass in defeat, lands on a condom wrapper that burns a little under his palm, heated by the merciless fucking sun, and he traces the exposed half-circle of latex, his fingernail catching on the torn packaging.

_“Any way you want me… I want… I want…”_

The hand over his eyes slides down his face, dragging skin and resting at his mouth, slacking his jaw.

_"I should take you-"_

_"Yes, God, **please** …" take me _

_take me take me take me_

...

He’s alone. 

He knows it without looking, can feel the absence behind him yawning like a black hole and he rolls over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling he tattooed with Van Gogh stars on one of the many nights he’d decided sleep was boring. 

He remembers this… lying like this last night… He had stared up at his stars with a hand on his chest… a hand that had gently pushed him down onto this mattress, fingers trailing lightly down his stomach…

He had wriggled out of his underwear then, he had reached out, he had tugged on a shirt that was purple in the blue dark and there were flashes of skin that he had ached to put his mouth against, skin so white, white like the moon hovering in his window suddenly there and then gone, a pale throat, that pulse point…

_“…how are you even real…”_

There were buttons. Problematic buttons. His fingers clumsy and too slow as they were caught, pressed down onto the mattress too and then hands on his wrists, fingernails scratching lightly down his forearms, making him shiver, making him shake in the best fucking way… 

His eyes were closed because he couldn’t keep them open because he was drifting because his head was full of ocean, that familiar outward swell taking him away from himself again. He drank too much, he dove right in past the point of having any kind of control and he doesn’t remember a face, he remembers a hand holding him (gently) down. And he remembers liking it. He remembers wanting more. More pressure. More weight. To be pinned down, held down. Anchored, tethered, held _still_ just for a moment…

And then _cresting_... 

Over and over again his body the undulating wave, the ocean out of his head and under his skin rushing hot and pulling back to rush again…

He sits up, his head still poundingPOUNDINGpounding _God_ and he crawls to the window, reaches the tattered edge of his makeshift curtain that hangs there like a broken flag and claws his way to a standing position to reattach it. He presses his forehead against the warm glass and breathes and breathes and _who did he bring back here_ because that’s not really something he does even when he’s as fucked up as he was last night.

Here is himself laid bare and that is not something that should be inflicted on (hopefully) nice (hopefully) attractive strangers who agree to fuck him. Or be fucked by him. 

Or neither.

Because they didn’t.

He’s fairly certain.

He doesn’t feel… sated. Doesn’t feel spent, used, _had_. 

Just… extremely… fucking… hungover. Again.

His knees start to shake and he rolls himself away from the window to slide down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor (poundingPOUNDINGpoundingSKULLJesus) and right in front him, right next to the bed, right next to the bottle that betrayed him by being _empty_ is a glass of water.

A glass of _water_.

He smiles a half smile, crooked and cracked like his memory and the sunlight isn’t so bad now filtered through the cornflower blue of the sheet and it almost feels like moonlight again which is his favorite and he looks at the unused condom and thinks of the guy who was apparently too much of a gentleman to take advantage which makes him wish he _had_ and there are two small Advil tablets next to the glass and God he hopes it wasn’t Joly.

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: I haven’t written anything in forever so this may be terrible, but I felt like writing something so… this… Also, I am super intimidated by all the amazing writers in this fandom so… be gentle? 
> 
> Note 2: I honestly don’t know where this is actually going. 
> 
> Track 01: Intro - The XX : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhnZkNj7kAo


End file.
